Stalking people is so boring... I'll never understand how the other Faceless Bastard can spend so much of his time doing it. Oh right I'm not the only Faceless Bastard, though the other one is only called that by impertinent people like myself. He's another god in the same terrifying pantheon as The Convocation. He has more common names, but I'm going to keep referring to him as The Faceless Bastard as well, because that will undoubtedly get confusing and I am not a people pleaser.
I was actually tempted to make this blogs layout a horrid combination of colours and shapes designed to make any more able sighted people cry upon seeing it, but apparently even The Convocation didn't want to look at it and so I wouldn't have been able to see my own blog and was forced to change it to this... generic trash.
I'm fairly sure I had a point here somewhere.
Well I reread the title I had picked for this post and have been reminded what I had been talking about. So, to alleviate the boredom of watching this vapid white girl stereotype go through her monotonous daily routine, I spent some time perusing the internet. Strangely enough others who have interacted with the Gods of this particular pantheon make up an obscure, but fairly large community on this humble site of public online journals. Both predators like myself and our prey find some strange solace in telling the random faceless idiots who might stumble across our tiny patch of the internet all about our activities. The reason why is probably known, but I've never cared enough to find out. I never did tell you why I myself chose to grace the internet with a record of my fun little life. I don't think I will.
It appears the subject got away from me again, but the point is I've been reading about the daily struggles of my fellow servants of The Gods and those hapless fools who find themselves as victims. I've even been thinking of sending some of them my love and adoration in the form of tiny shouts of encouragement.
Something like: "I hope your hand gets trapped in a blender" or "I hope The Faceless Bastard tears your legs off and beats your family to death with them." You know little bits of positivity like that. It is in fact marvelous fun. Of course I only get to engage in this behaviour in those periods of time when the object of my current enforced fascination is stuck in one place and easily supervised. Like school, home or the part time job she does as a receptionist at a hairdressers after school. I haven't been following her long enough to figure out an exact pattern, but based on the things I've overheard and the calendar I stole from her school locker. I think she works there mondays, wednesdays and Thursdays. Tomorrow is a monday. I wonder if I could enter her place of work without causing too much alarm. The mask doesn't exactly help me be inconspicuous, but I guess a face like beef jerky wouldn't make me inconspicuous either.
You know I never really looked at myself in the mirror after my accident... I wonder if I looked anything like Freddy Krueger? I've always preferred Jason anyway. It's why I use a machete. I mean I'm already a mostly silent killer in a mask, might as well go all the way.
Well, I mean not all the way. My mask isn't a hockey mask. It's a do it yourself paper mask with candlewick twine holding it on. It's not great, but it does the job and I think the shoddiness of it adds to the creepiness.
Oh as for the silent killer part, while it doesn't hurt to speak anymore, my voice is still pretty fucked up from the accident, so I generally try not to speak often in the presence of people I'm trying to intimidate. I'm worried they'd assume I was doing the voice on purpose and they'd think I was trying too hard.
One thing you should never do is try too hard.
I feel like I lost the point again, but who cares. The girl is asleep and I'm gonna take this chance to get some sleep myself.
What did you think I didn't sleep? I'm not a robot. I still need to eat, sleep and do other human things. Although given that I don't seem to have any internal organs anymore I'm not entirely sure why I need to... I'd ask The Convocation, but I doubt they'd answer. They don't tend to talk much unless it's to tell me to do something.
Anyway night folks. Have unpleasant dreams. Preferably with me in them. In fact if you manage to dream of me murdering you and post it on this blog in the comments you'll win a prize!
What prize you ask? Well... I'll make that dream a reality!
No purchase necessary, only the first entrant will win, prize not eligible in all continents, must be over thirteen years of age. Not because I don't kill children, but because then I'll probably have to kill your whole family and that's likely to be a whole big thing and while that would probably be extremely fun I don't really have the time for it right now...
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